


Trust (invites betrayal)

by MurielJones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 11:49:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurielJones/pseuds/MurielJones
Summary: The summary is basically an extended warning:  Dean starts a sexual relationship with Sam when they are both children (Sam may be as young as three), which continues as they get older, with Sam becoming an initiator also.  Dean is being sexually abused by an adult, who it is is never identified, but it might be Bobby (and I love Bobby, I don't think he could do something like that, I don't, but the story...).  There is nothing explicit about the sexual contact, but it is still described and I still find it disturbing.  So, it may be the kind of thing you can't get out of your head, it may be all kinds of triggery, this isn't happy wincest like I usually write, its sad and hurt and non-consensual.Sam pays for sex to get the whole mess out of his head.It's a story about ptsd, and how healing can be so far out of reach, about how things are clear and aren't and make no fucking sense...ask Sam.  It lapses into stream of consciousness along the way.





	Trust (invites betrayal)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story thinking I wouldn't post it. I changed my mind because of the element of secrecy which is part of what is so destructive in child abuse. I still remain worried about who would read this and to what end, but that's part of what keeps silence is the abuse of the story when it is told; the re-eroticisation of the abused child/adult instead of letting it be a story about violence and violation.

Sam is laying under the weight of Dean’s body, and Dean is fucking him;  no one looks happy, Sam is apologizing and Dean isn’t say things like ‘it’s ok.’ or ‘we will figure it out’.  This wasn’t figured out years ago, and nothing either of them says or does will untangle this.  Their fingers are twisted together, and Dean’s breath is on Sam’s face, but their jaws are tight as if somehow they have no choice in this.  At least that’s Sam’s basic fantasy as some stranger, some hooker, fucks Sam against the wall.  It’s not a great a fantasy, but among the choices he has in his head, it’s the best.

There are things he needs fucked out of his head, and maybe, eventually, this will help.

Sam is four, he has to be four, he has to believe that because this wasn’t something you would do to your three year old brother, but Dean had to be seven because you should know better than to do this when you were eight.  Sam remembers that vividly, Dean telling him he ‘should know better’; Sam still feels hallowed out when he hears those words.  But having oral sex, performing oral – do you call it that then, sex, because its not, that’s not what sex is – with Dean when he was four, Sam doesn’t know if it’s one of those childhood memories that you construct because the same thing happened over and over and you make up the first time, or something you think about so much that it makes up it’s own story altogether, but he does remember Dean telling him:  ‘It’s what you do when you love someone.’  Sam remembers Dean sitting on the edge of a bed, and sometimes its one bed, a hotel bed, and sometimes is a bed in some dump they were staying in, and sometimes it’s their bed in Bobby’s house, but nothing gives him a time line.  Sam remembers Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, and pulling off his pants, Dean looked worried, Sam remembers that look, Dean looking confused even. Dean pulls off his own pants, that’s how the story goes in Sam’s head, then Sam is kneeling between Dean’s legs and Sam doesn’t know he got there, his memory doesn’t serve him well on that one, he remembers Dean wide-eyed, and he remembers feeling sick with fear.  ‘It’s ok,’ says Dean, ‘It’s normal to be afraid.’ 

Sam – stranger up his ass unable to pull him out of these things that haunt him every time he’s touched – wonders whose words those are, who said those things to Dean, who hurt Dean.  In his fantasy he twists his fingers tighter into Dean’s, and lets Dean fuck him harder, that’s all he wants to think about now, is being fucked.  He can’t help it, his mind won’t let go of the fact that someone close to them had let Dean think that sex with children was love.  His stomach lurches, the hooker keeps fucking him.

Then Sam had Dean’s – he has the words for it now, he didn’t then, but he can’t bring himself to say it, he hates to even say penis, and he can’t go to those other words, not the words he learned from Dean over those years, years, it was years, Dean thinks he’s a prude, and Sam doesn’t know how Dean does it, acts like sex can be so normal, fun, natural, he does know it’s bullshit, or his brother wouldn’t fuck everything that moved, his brother would be able to say no – Sam had it in his mouth and he was crying, and he didn’t know where to put his hands.  ‘It’s normal to cry’ Dean had said, ‘especially at first.’  He remembers Dean looking as though he were waiting for something to happen.  Dean carefully placed one of Sam’s hands on each of his knees and wrapped their fingers together.  As an adult Sam knows that the something that Dean was waiting for didn’t happen; as a kid, how the hell was Sam to know?  Even Dean didn’t know how that happened, and Dean knew everything.  Sam didn’t even know where babies came from, he found out from a book a couple of years later, he was five then – but he couldn’t have been three the first time, Dean wouldn’t have done this to him when he was three – and he had asked Dean if he could get pregnant.  Dean had gone a funny color.  Now Sam knows that Dean didn’t have a clue.  But Sam had stayed there, gone on, because this was what you did to show someone you loved them, and he loved Dean.  ‘but you’ll get used it’ Dean had added.

The truth is that Sam pays for sex, knows that his brother will never fuck him, they will never talk about this, this will never be resolved—that some guy will make fifty, and Sam will be back. 

They had stopped, Sam was six or seven – it was hard to tell now – Sam had thought, at the time, and so many times after, that Dean didn’t love him anymore. Dean hadn’t come to him the whole summer, and he was worried, relieved because he hated that taste, and it was weird, and he had to keep it a secret because Dean said that’s what you did and he was tired of all the secrets, but he was worried that maybe Dean didn’t love him anymore.  Sam had climbed onto Dean’s bed, sat next to Dean and tugged at his pans.  That time he remembers:  Dean had leapt up, pushed Sam away, down, off the bed, and shouted at him he was a disgusting freak. Sam had tried to run away later that afternoon but Dean caught him packing his stuff up in a pillow case and locked him in their room. Sam threw himself against the door and cried, and told Dean he hated him, and Dean yelled ‘I hate you back’ at him, but he didn’t let Sam out to run off; eventually Sam stopped crying and Dean made them sandwiches with Bobby’s good peanut butter, and real jelly from Walmart, rather than weird stuff from the dollar store and they ate together on the bed.  Dean was probably only ten, Sam thinks;  God, Dean was only ten, and must already had so much guilt.

Sam had always been jealous, even now, when maybe he hadn’t put quite as much lube on as he thought and being fucked was hurting him, now he was jealous of Cassie and of Lisa, hell he was jealous of the fucking waitresses.  But at the time, he was six or seven and Dean was ten or maybe eleven, Sam wondered if Dean _only_ loved that other person now.  Sam knew Dean was the only person he would ever love.  Sam knew Dean hadn’t though Sam always knew when Dean had done it, because Dean would go straight to his bed, sit on it, do his homework, or pretend read, he wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t even eat;  so at least Dean was sitting and eating with him, so maybe he still loved Sam a bit.  Maybe he loved that other guy less now also. It hurt though, it still hurts and Sam is disgusted at himself that it still hurts. Sam still doesn’t know who it was, who he should hate for doing this to both of them, he doesn’t ask, they don’t talk about it.  Sam doesn’t even know who he hates so much.

He shakes his head to clear the ghosts, as his hips are held firmly by some young man fucking him, Sam makes sure they men, adults, he knows that kids do this, he doesn’t want anything to do with kids.  Sam almost wants to shake the young man off and leave, but he wants that grounding in his body, the ache in his hole, the wear of his hands on the wall, the grip on his hips, the sick burst of pleasure.  He hurts, he wants, and his ghosts stay firmly in place.

It was more than a year later that Sam initiated anything again: Sam thinks, that would have made him eight, which makes no sense, because he should have known better, Dean had said that to him, he should have know better.  Dean had looked so scared when he came back to their room, filthy and roughed up, their dad was in the shower, Bobby was leaving, few gruff words spoken, Dean looked so scared.  He was just sitting there, on the bed, trying to look brave, so Sam knelt down in front of Dean and Dean had complied.  Dean had been on a hunt with Dad and Bobby – and who knows who else adult Sam adds – Sam guessed he was eight and Dean was twelve.    Dean looked terrified, and Sam was eight, and he didn’t actually know any different, and it was disgusting, and it make him choke, and Dean was twelve now, and getting hairy and it was worse, but he did it for Dean, he thought that Dean didn’t love him anymore.  Dean had said ‘You’re eight, you should know better.’ as Sam tried to pull his head away when cum filled his mouth, and Dean held him in place by his hair.  Sam had waited for Dean to be in the shower before he brushed his teeth a hundred times in the kitchen and didn’t cry.

From then on when they did it Sam offered as often as when Dean asked, he would follow Dean into their room, into the hotel room when they had privacy, even into the shower, and unbuckle Deans jeans, go down on his knees—it was disgusting every time, Dean held Sam’s head in place every time. Dean never said no.  Sam didn’t know how to say no, he didn’t want Dean to think that he didn’t want this, every time Sam thought of saying no, of not offering, he was afraid that Dean would take it as a universal rejection.  Sam would sometimes look up at Dean’s face, tight and looking up and off, Sam would have tears in his eyes from how tight Dean was holding his hair, from how hard Dean was forcing his head down, from how deep Dean was fucking his throat. Then Sam stopped calling Dean from Stanford.

So some guy is fucking Sam, and Sam gets no pleasure out of it, he isn’t even hard, he prepped himself but it still hurts, he doesn’t like it, he feels sick and scared.  The guy Sam paid has instructions to only touch Sam’s hips, nothing else, and leave when he’s done.  Sam started paying in his twenties, when he was still with Jess, that way you could get what you wanted, and pick who you wanted.  Jess didn’t know, who the hell would tell their girlfriend that they paid for sex with men so they could fantasize about having a final sexual encounter with their brother in which they talk to each about their mutual sexual abuse, and it ends in some sort of acceptable pleasure. 

It was mutual.  That’s the other part of what keeps Sam coming back, he abused Dean, this loveless hard sex against a wall, is what he deserves.  Dean was a kid when he came to Sam, he didn’t know different, what he knew was that he loved Sam and he wanted Sam it love him; it wasn’t even experimental it was what Dean had been taught, Dean thought it was normal and Sam didn’t know what Dean got out of it, did he feel loved when Sam offered it – Sam was never going to ask.  What scares Sam, god what scares him, is how he remembers clearly being between Dean’s soft thighs, and the skin against him, and Dean’s careful hands, and how nearly suffocated with fear.  Sam flinches, those images from his childhood won’t leave.  Sam tries to make the taste of Dean go away, to find some happier images of his childhood to think about while paying to be fucked up against a wall in an ally.  Sam tries to bring himself back to image of Dean laying over him, tries to pretend that the warmth filling the condom is Dean’s come.  Sam tries to pretend, that’s all he fucking does every fucking day, pretend is just another word for lie. The young man, Sam made sure he was a man and not a boy, walks away, tying and throwing the condom aside, Sam still pulling up his pants and doing up his buckle.

Sam isn’t expecting Dean home, he doesn’t really know what he was expecting, after these evenings he just wants to go to bed and wish it all away.  But there Dean is, finishing up cleaning the weapons in the library.  Sam should have said his usual, about aren’t there better places for cleaning weapons than the library, but he doesn’t. 

“Was it Dad?”  Sam is startled by himself, he expects Dean to look startled, but instead Dean just shakes his head.

“No.”  It’s quiet.  Dean leans forwards, fisted hands resting on the table, white and blue check shirt hanging open over an older white T, looking up at Sam, he shakes his head and whispers, “No, it wasn’t him.”

Sam can taste the betrayal, he licks his lips to try for an apology, some sort of appropriate empathy, as soon as he can get enough air to speak.  “When did it…” 

Dean is looking down at the table now, head hung:  “Only when he….”

Sam frozen, struggles out:  “I’m.....”

Dean lifts his hands off the table, tries for something of a smile, clearly close to tears, breath slow and steady:  “I know you are Sammy."  He picks up the colt, wipes it down one more time with a rag:  "I got the guns cleaned, left your good Taurus on your nightstand.”

Sam is left standing alone, watching Dean retreat to his own room.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
